novelraw Chapter 153: A Myth Wearing Boots
Chapter 153: A Myth Wearing Boots
Towan winced as he pressed the cold water pouch to his temple. The welt from the Queen’s elbow pulsed with its own heartbeat, loud and smug.
The rest of the group sat scattered across their usual field, now lit only by moonlight. The once-pristine picnic blanket was rumpled and stained with grass, tea, and at least one drop of blood.
Alira crouched nearby, braiding her hair with unusual focus. “Okay. So. Not to sound like a coward—”
“You are sounding like a coward,” Len said softly, dabbing Towan’s lip with a cloth.
“—but,” Alira continued, “I’m never fighting her. Ever. I would rather duel an avalanche. At least snow doesn’t smirk.”
Sylra, arms crossed, stared blankly at the stars. “She doesn’t fight with power. Or speed.” Her voice had that same tight tone she used during tests. “She strips you bare. Every movement she made was a correction to something you hadn’t done yet.”
“That’s… horrifying,” Len whispered.
Elliot sat apart from them, head tipped back against a tree trunk, mask in his lap. “He almost had her, though.”
“Liar,” Towan muttered. “She had me the moment she walked in.”
Rellie hadn’t said a word since they’d left the stables. She sat cross-legged on a nearby rock, crimson eyes reflecting the fireflies. Her expression unreadable. But every so often, her fingers would twitch, like she was remembering a motion—one she hadn’t made.
“I thought I had her with Thunder-Strike,” Towan said, exhaling hard. “I felt it. That flow, that power… just for a second.”
Elliot snorted. “You butchered it.”
Towan smiled, blood still in his teeth. “Yeah. But it was cool, right?”
A pause. Then Elliot grinned back. “Yeah. It was cool.”
Alira raised a hand. “Okay but like… are we gonna talk about her eyes?”
The group fell quiet.
Rellie’s head turned slightly, just once. Then back.
“She saw me,” Rellie murmured.
Sylra blinked. “What?”
“She didn’t just fight Towan. She… looked at me. At the end.” Rellie’s voice was low, nearly lost to the wind. “Like she wanted me to know.”
The silence turned heavier.
Towan’s fingers curled around the bandages in his lap. “She wasn’t fighting to win. She was sending a message.”
Len’s eyes darted between them all. “To who?”
“Maybe us,” Elliot said, eyes narrowing. “Maybe Rellie.”
“Or maybe,” Alira said, voice softer than usual, “just to anyone who thought they could touch the crown.”
Calo had never seen someone move like that.
Not in real life, anyway.
He’d heard stories, of course.
Veik had told him—raved, really—about a boy from First Class.
“Towan’s wild, bro. I swear he moves like gravity forgot him. I saw him fight an upperclassman in sparring once, no Essentia—just fists—and the guy ended up halfway through a brick wall. Smiling.”
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Veik didn’t exaggerate often.
Which made tonight worse.
Because Towan had just been dismantled.
Systematically.
Like a child being guided gently toward failure.
Calo sat on the far ledge of the old stables, legs dangling in the cold, notebook open on one knee. His pen twitched like it had a pulse of its own, struggling to keep up with the thoughts fighting for escape.
Observation 1: The Queen doesn’t dodge.
She’s already gone.
Observation 2: She let him hit her. Once.
Why? Test? Warning? Play?
He scribbled half a diagram, crossed it out. Started again.
Below, the masked crowd was dispersing, voices hushed, adrenaline burned out into disbelief.
Some still whispered the name like it was forbidden.
“The Queen…”
“Did you see that elbow?”
“She barely even moved…”
Calo had moved to the academy thinking he'd study techniques, learn structure, write theories for fighters braver than him.
He wasn’t supposed to want to understand killers.
And yet—
His hand trembled as he wrote the words:
“She read Towan like he was printed on paper.”
He looked up, past the ring, where Towan’s friends were gathered in a quiet huddle. No one was laughing now.
He scanned for the Queen. Gone.
She had vanished before the final applause died. No name, no bow, no signature Essentia flare. Just… nothing.
“She’s like a myth wearing boots,” Calo whispered. “But she’s real.”
And she had looked at Rellie.
That moment hadn't gone unnoticed.
Calo had sharp eyes. Observant ones. It’s why he never got picked for duels—he was too busy studying movement like a religious text.
And tonight, he’d watched a scripture rewritten in blood and silence.
He turned to a fresh page.
At the top, he wrote:
Case File: The Queen of Masks
Subject: Unknown masked combatant.
Essentia Signature:
Undetectable. Possibly suppressed.Combat Style: Predictive evasion, brutal counters. Daggers. Palm strikes. Unorthodox rhythm.
Known Record: 31 wins. 0 losses.
Notable Victim: Towan.
Observed Trait: Crimson eyes. Unnatural reaction speed.
Suspected Intent: ???
Calo stared at the final line, then slowly underlined it twice.
“I’m going to find out who you are.”
The moonlight caught the corner of his notebook as he closed it, eyes never leaving the space where she’d once stood.
“Because anyone who can beat Towan like that…
...is worth chasing.”
“WHAT?!”
The whole classroom flinched.
Calo nearly dropped his pen. “Shhh! Veik, dude, keep your voice down!”
Veik blinked like someone had slapped him with a test paper. “Bro—you’re telling me Towan got his ass kicked?!”
Calo glanced nervously toward the front of the room, where Professor Kaen was scribbling indecipherable Essentia equations on the blackboard, looking one bad cough away from vaporizing a desk.
“Lower your tone, man,” Calo whispered. “I’m not trying to get vaporized today.”
Veik sank into his seat, but his face still radiated betrayal. “There’s no way. I’ve seen Towan fight. He doesn’t lose. He once beat a guy with a dislocated shoulder and a sandwich in his other hand.”
Calo raised an eyebrow. “Was the sandwich a weapon?”
“Metaphorically? Yes.”
(I’m pretty sure this dude’s got him idealized.)
“Look,” Calo said, “maybe Towan wasn’t going all out. Maybe he got cocky. But none of that changes the fact—he got wrecked.”
Veik stared at his desk like it had personally offended him. “...Was it, like, close?”
“No. It was surgical.”
Veik went quiet. Then leaned in.
“Okay… who do you think it was?”
Calo tapped his pen against his notebook. “Well… if we’re going by raw talent, the strongest girls in First Year are Sylra Auren, Len Verestra, and that fire girl—Alira something.”
“Alira Blaze.”
“That’s definitely not her name.”
Veik shrugged. “Should be.”
Calo turned back to his notes. “Anyway… I watched them fight before. Sylra’s all precision and wind manipulation. She fights like a diagram. The Queen was instinctive. Pure rhythm. Like she’s not planning ahead—just already there.”
“And Len?”
“Too defensive. Fluid, yeah, but soft. She redirects. The Queen dominates.”
“And Alira?”
Calo hesitated. “...Honestly, the personality doesn’t match. The Queen doesn’t talk unless it’s to threaten you like a gothic poetry villain. Alira never shuts up.”
“Okay but counterpoint,” Veik said, raising a finger. “What if she does shut up when she’s serious?”
Calo blinked.
“…Fair.”
Later That Day – Dorm Room
Calo sprawled on his bed, notebook on his chest, one hand scribbling.
He had three columns now.
Suspects:
Sylra Auren – Ruled out. Too tall. Too calculated.Len Verestra – Possible but unlikely. Queen moves too violently.Alira ??? – Maybe. But her flair’s different. Not a dancer—a brawler.Beneath them, one odd entry.
Rellie (???)
Too quiet.Dagger user.Aura similar. Not the same.But the way the Queen looked at her…
He tapped his pen against the last line.
“Looked at her like she was remembering something.”
Then, in smaller handwriting, he added:
“Or warning her.”